The Malfoy Manner
by x-Goody2Shoes-x
Summary: Following an incident over dinner in his fifth year, Malfoy is sounding out to his friends in the comfort of the Slytherin common room. But little does he know, not everyone approves of his story-telling. Sometimes, people need a lesson in manners. Oneshot. Constructive criticism encouraged. I don't own Harry Potter.


"I swear, this place is going to the dogs… more and more Mudbloods every day!" muttered Malfoy, settled astride his favourite armchair in the comforting subdued glow of the Slytherin common room. It was just after dinner, and just after Malfoy had endured a particularly smarting dressing down from the Mudblood Granger and the hot-headed blood traitor Weasley girl, and all because he had happened to point out to his friends the absurdity of the existence of the Lovegood idiot! Wandering around in filthy robes, wearing bloody _corks_ as jewellery, and with those ridiculous spectacles on her forehead! All he had done, as he had sneeringly pointed out to the do-gooder duo, was make a comment to his friends as she passed. And it wasn't even as if it had particularly upset her – on the contrary! After he had innocently asked his friends, as the freak of nature herself passed by their table, if they thought "it took years of practice to be such a freak, or does it come naturally when your surname is Lovegood, aka, Loony?" She had simply smiled vaguely and carried on, even as their section of the Slytherin table had roared with laughter.

Yet those insufferable Gryffindors had to go poking their noses in. The Weasley girl had practically thrown a fit, snarling at him about whether it took years of practice to be as big a prat as he was, or did simply being born a Malfoy suffice, whilst the Mudblood had shaken her head disapprovingly and told the girls to ignore him. Ignore him! What a cheek. She didn't even have a right to be here, none of them did! Mudbloods and blood traitors and crackpots, all of them! And he, Draco Malfoy, was having to endure this type of… of _slime_ every day! Why on Earth Mother had insisted on sending him to this cesspit was beyond him. Malfoy snarled under his breath and turned to Crabbe and Goyle, seated on the sofa opposite.

"You'd think, wouldn't you, that Mother would have valued an opportunity for me to improve myself, and broaden my horizons by going to school abroad? But no, she settles for this dung heap! Scotland! I ask you! You'd swear Wiltshire was the other side of the world the way she carries on about the distance! And to think I could have been in Durmstrang!" Malfoy actually pounded the arms of the armchair with his fists in his frustration, the black leather creaking at the contact. Crabbe and Goyle grunted in sympathy – or confusion, it could have been either one. But Malfoy was far too wound up to notice.

"I mean, it's not as if I'm asking for much, is it?" he continued. "I just want to go to a school where I can learn some half decent magic that'll actually be of use to me, not just some poxy Defence rubbish, and where I can eat my dinner in peace without being accosted by the stink of that filth wandering around!" Crabbe and Goyle grunted again, and Malfoy scowled at his surroundings, the familiar rhythmic sloshing of the water pressing at the windows failing to soothe his agitation.

Suddenly, the damp stone wall concealing the passageway slid open, and Nott and Zabini walked in, conversing together, though both glanced up to see who was around. Nott grinned when he saw Malfoy.

"Bad luck, Draco," he called, walking over to join their group. "I thought for sure you'd have had an opening for jinxing the Mudblood."

Malfoy scowled at the memory. Granger had turned her back and he had his wand at the ready, prepared to hex her into next week, when that damned Ravenclaw ghost had come drifting through the walls right through him, causing him to shudder and drop his wand into his chicken soup. Zabini smirked as if he too was remembering, and enjoying it too, and that was enough for Malfoy.

"It wasn't my fault," he spat. "It was that frigid cow, that bloody Grey Lady! Have you noticed she's always doing that? Always drifting about aimlessly at the most stupid time! I'm sure she does it on purpose, just for attention."

"Well, if it was attention she wanted mate, you certainly gave it to her," Nott chuckled, settling himself onto a cushioned stool. "I thought she was going to defy the odds and burst into tears, the way you yelled at her!"

Crabbe and Goyle grunted approvingly, identical stupid smirks on their faces, but the boys' appreciation was beginning to finally soothe Malfoy. Allowing his usual superior sneer, he settled back more comfortably into the chair and continued. "She deserved it. I don't know what she even does here. At least the other Ghosts say something once a decade, but her? Nothing! She just drifts around, looking as stuck up as possible, like she's the queen of the castle!" Zabini, lurking somewhat at the back, smirked more than ever at this, and raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who didn't seem to notice.

"Did you see her face, though, when I asked her if all Ravenclaws were as useless as she was, and that was why she took solace in always coming through the Slytherin table?" Malfoy chuckled nastily. "And then she looked all outraged, and her eyebrows shot up, and then I asked if being an intellectual snob accounted for having no friends, and nobody who cared about her? And then – "

But nobody would ever find out what Malfoy said next. Malfoy had suddenly stopped speaking; both due to the sudden look of shock and fear on the boys surrounding him, and the icy cold presence of something sinking onto his shoulder. Malfoy barely had the time to turn around before a hoarse, chilling whisper assaulted his ears.

"I do not know much of this tale you are telling, boy, but I have heard enough to tell it displeases me. Hast thou offended the Lady of Ravenclaw Tower with your misdeeds, with your derogatory tongue?" When Malfoy failed to speak, the icy sensation spread through his shoulder, almost as if the assailant was attempting to shake him. "Well?"

Malfoy managed a choked gasp, fear spreading through him as he managed to turn his head to see the Bloody Baron glaring at him, his usually emotionless eyes blazing with repressed fury. "I – I…"

"I thought as much," the Baron interrupted, his many chains clinking as he drew himself to his full height, the weight of his anger collapsing on Malfoy from his towering frame like a thunderbolt launched from Mount Olympus. "I will not repeat myself, so take heed of my words, boy; do not dare to insult the Lady of Ravenclaw Tower again, in my presence or out of it. And if thou does, believe me, thou shall have cause to regret it." The Baron released Malfoy's shoulder, and leant forward to glare into his face as Malfoy shrank back into the armchair. "Dost thou comprehend?"

Malfoy managed a nod, eyes bugging slightly in panic. The Baron slowly leant back, still glowering menacingly, then, with a flick of his cloak, he turned to cast the same glare to the other boys, before drifting off through a wall, chains clinking softly, the silver bloodstains glowing in the dim light.

For a brief moment, nobody spoke. The boys stayed in their place, mouths still gaping. Malfoy remained shrunk back into his chair as if stuck by the Body-Bind curse. After a few painful minutes, Nott slowly sat up, shaking his head as if dumbfounded.

"Now, _what_," he said slowly, "do you suppose that was about?"


End file.
